Not Fit for a King

chapter SIX

LATER that night, tucked in bed, Hannah took out her phone and researched the Patek Royal family.

There were dozens of articles online but very few references to the youngest Patek prince, Constantine. Once someone gave his date of birth—he was three years older than Hannah—and another time, he was referred to as the third son, but that was it. To the outside world, Prince Constantine didn’t exist.

Hannah could see why Zale would want to protect his brother from the world, but to keep his future wife from meeting his only surviving family? It made Hannah think Zale had no intentions of marrying Emmeline.

Hannah turned off the phone, and then the lamp next to her bed, but couldn’t sleep.

Zale wasn’t an easy man. He was tough, proud and competitive. And the more she got to know him, the more certain she was that he’d crush Emmeline. Not intentionally, of course, but simply because he didn’t understand his own strength.

He’d never win Emmeline’s heart by browbeating her, either. He needed to court her. Needed to woo her. Needed to show that he had a softer side, and Hannah knew he did because she saw glimpses of it every now and then. Just not often enough.

It was time Zale exerted himself a little bit. Time he made an effort to win Emmeline over instead of judging her and criticizing her. He might be a king, but he needed to start treating his betrothed like the queen she would be.

Hannah woke early the next morning and rang for Celine to help her dress. “Can you send word to His Majesty that I’d like to meet him?” Hannah asked, stepping from her shower to dress.

Today she chose her own clothes, selecting a pale apricot linen dress from Emmeline’s wardrobe paired with a slim-fitting cropped cashmere sweater the same hue. She slipped a gold bangle on her wrist and small gold hoops on her ears, before pulling her hair back in a ponytail. She did her own makeup, keeping it light, and was just finishing applying mascara when word arrived that His Majesty was waiting for her in the family dining room.

Hannah took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as a footman escorted her.

The family dining room was a cozy room on the second floor. Tall mullioned windows lined the walls and sunlight glazed the glass, casting bright rays across the rich walnut table and illuminating the centerpiece of pink and cream tulips in a crystal vase.

Zale sat at one end of the table reading a stack of newspapers, a cup of espresso at his elbow.

Briefly he lifted his head as she entered the room, his amber gaze sweeping over her. “This is a surprise,” he said.

“A pleasant one, I hope,” she answered, taking the chair the uniformed footman held for her and smoothing the hem of her crisp linen dress over her knees.

The footman poured her coffee and brought her fresh squeezed orange juice before handing her a small elegant printed menu. Her eyebrows arched. A printed menu for a family meal?

Zale must have been able to read her mind as he said from behind his newspaper, “Chef will make anything you like, but he also offers specialty items every morning based on what he’s picked up from the local farmers market.”

“How do you know what I was thinking?”

“You’re easy to read.” He folded the paper and set it down.

“So what am I thinking now?” she asked, stirring milk into her coffee.

Zale studied her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. “You’re upset that I won’t introduce you to my brother, and you’re here to convince me otherwise.”

“Not at all,” she said, lifting her cup to sip the hot, strong coffee. “I think you’re spot-on. Your brother should be protected. Until we are absolutely certain we want to proceed with the wedding, we should be careful. I’d hate to grow fond of your brother only to realize you’re not entirely suitable for me.”

His eyebrow lifted. “And now I’m not suitable?”

She offered the footman a sunny smile as he moved forward to offer her a selection of flaky pastries. She refused the pastries and turned her attention back to Zale. “I thought about what you said last night—about our lack of compatibility—and you might be right.”

He shifted in his seat, shoulders becoming broader, expression harder. “Is that so?”

She nodded, took another sip of coffee. “We don’t know each other, and the only way you’ll know I’m right for you is if I’m myself. So from now on, I’m going to be myself, and hopefully, you’ll like the real me. But if you don’t, I’d rather go home than marry someone who doesn’t enjoy my company.”

Zale’s brows lowered. “You would reject me?”

She smiled, the same patient smile she gave Sheikh Al-Koury when he gave her another impossible task. “Since we’re being completely honest, I admit that I don’t want to marry someone I don’t like, either.”

His lips thinned.

She nodded, as if he’d given a sign of agreement. “I’m really looking forward to the next four days and spending time together. I imagine you have some fun activities planned—” she lifted a finger, holding him off a moment “—activities other than signing documents, sitting for portraits and selecting china patterns.”

“Those are all necessary if we’re to marry.”

“Yes, if. But as you made clear yesterday, we don’t know that we will. In fact, you’re fairly certain we won’t. So perhaps selecting a china pattern is a bit presumptuous, never mind a colossal waste of time. Perhaps we should slow down and … date … first.”

“Date?”

“Mmm. Lunches. Dinners. Activities that allow us to spend time together in a relaxed and enjoyable manner.” “Is this a joke?”

“No. I definitely wouldn’t joke about our future.”

Zale stared at her through narrowed lashes, his expression grim. “You’re so different from a year ago. You were so quiet at our engagement party. You hardly looked at me. Where has all this personality come from?”

Hannah shrugged. “It was always there, just a bit squashed by my parents’ disapproval. But my parents aren’t marrying you. I am.”

“And this entire epiphany came to you last night?”

“Yes. As I lay in bed.” She gestured to the footman. “I think I’d like the eggs Florentine and some fresh fruit. Thank you.” She lifted her white linen napkin from the table and placed it on her lap. “I thought you’d be pleased by my epiphany but you don’t seem happy at all.”

He didn’t look happy, either. His brow was furrowed, his square chin jutted and he was practically glowering at her from across the table. “I find your attitude a trifle cavalier considering the circumstances. Your parents have invested a great deal of money into our alliance—”

“Five million euros.”

A small muscle pulled in his jaw at her interruption. “And I, too, am invested.”

“Two and a half million. Because you’re a king and more important than I am.”

“Emmeline,” he growled.

It’d meant to be a warning.

Hannah ignored it. “But that’s the reality, isn’t it? You are a king and I’m just a princess—” “Stop.”

“It’s true. You do have more power. You can afford to be critical. Judgmental. Unforgiving.” “That’s not who I am.”

“It’s how you speak to me. You’ve told me repeatedly that I’m not suitable.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “So why would I want to marry you? Why would I want to spend my life with a person who treats me like my parents do?”

He leaned back in his chair and for a long moment said nothing and then he shook his head. “I respect your parents, but I’m nothing like them.”

“Yet all I’ve heard from you since I arrived is that I’m a disappointment and you can’t wait to get rid of me.”

“I also think I’ve told you you’re beautiful a half dozen times.”

“But I’d rather you like who I am as a person than appreciate my looks. Beauty fades. Appearances change. It’s the inside that matters and that’s the part of me you don’t like.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“Because there isn’t anything about me—other than my bloodline and my looks—that you do like.”

He fell silent. She knew she’d made a point. She could see it in his eyes and the twist of his lips.

Silence stretched. Zale drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I like you right now,” he said after a moment. “I like your candor. I appreciate honesty.”

Hannah suppressed the twinge of guilt she felt at his mention of honesty. “Zale, I think there are a lot of things you’d like about me, given the chance to get to know me. I love adventure. I have a great sense of humor. I enjoy traveling and reading and learning about new cultures. But if you keep throwing the past in my face, you’ll never get to know any of those things about me.”

“It’s hard to forget that until last week you were with Alejandro.”

“Is that pride speaking?”

“No. It’s the realist in me. The one that knows leopards don’t change their spots.”

“But the realist must also see that I’m here. I asked to join you at breakfast this morning. I want to spend as much time as I can with you—Zale, the man, not the king—over the next few days. But you have to want to be with me, too, because I don’t want to marry my father. I want a man that likes me. Enjoys me. And could maybe even one day love me.”

Zale stood up, walked across the room, then turned to face her. “Maybe we need to start over,” he said quietly. “Wipe the slate clean.”

“Can you?”

His broad shoulders shrugged. “I won’t know until I try. But let’s do what you’ve suggested. Try to act like a normal couple getting to know each other. We’ll spend time together … date.”

She smiled at the way he said date. He made it sound foreign and exotic, as if it was something he’d never normally do. “Good. It’s the only way we’ll know if we really have a chance.”

“So let’s have our first … date … today. I’ve morning meetings but once they wrap up we’ll head out for the rest of the day.” He paused, thought a moment and then added, “We’ll plan to meet at eleven. Wear something comfortable, bring a sweater and a swimsuit, just in case.”

A sweater and a swimsuit? She was immediately curious as to where they were going but didn’t ask. “I’ll be ready.”

Hannah changed into white linen pants, a blue and white striped knit shirt topped by a navy jacket. It was rather nautical but the most casual thing Hannah could find in Emmeline’s elegant wardrobe.

Reluctantly she packed one of Emmeline’s two-piece swim-suits, thinking there was no way her curvy figure would be covered by the tiny scraps of material, but Zale had said to bring a suit and so she would.

She headed downstairs at five to eleven to find Zale already waiting for her. She’d expected a car would be waiting outside but discovered a helicopter in the enormous circular driveway instead.

The pilot gave both Hannah and Zale headsets to wear for the flight to reduce noise. The headsets came equipped with microphones but Zale was quiet as they lifted off the palace helipad and flew above the walled city over creamy colored bluffs, cypress pines and hillsides dotted with orange and red tiled houses.

Even with the microphones it would be impossible to really talk above the noise and Hannah didn’t mind the silence as it gave her a chance to really see Raguva. It’d been nighttime when she’d arrived and she was fascinated by this jewel-like kingdom on the Dalmatian Coast.

“We’re going to my island,” Zale said, ten minutes into the flight. “I don’t go often, haven’t been there in years, but I thought we could both use some downtime away from the palace.”

For twenty minutes they flew over sapphire water and the odd sailboat, barge and yacht until several rocky islands appeared below. The islands were almost barren with just a few gnarled trees above jagged cliffs. There were stone ruins on one island, and a simple stone house on another. That’s the island they were landing on.

The pilot slowly touched down in a clearing before the house and Zale opened the door, climbed out and helped Hannah out. The pilot handed Zale a leather duffel and they spoke together for a moment before taking off.

Hannah watched the helicopter lift off, blades whirring, leaving them alone on a deserted island in the middle of the Adriatic Sea. “He’s coming back for us, right?”

Zale’s lips curved in a trace of a smile. “Don’t worry. He’ll be back before it’s dark. But even if he isn’t, my security detail has been in the water since midmorning. They’ve secured the island and they can be here in minutes.”

“Do you come here often?” she asked, shouldering her beach tote bag and looking around. The simple farm-style house had thick stone walls, single-pane glass windows and a pale terracotta tiled roof.

He shook his head. “Haven’t been here in years.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t had the desire, nor the time.”

The sun was now directly overhead and it was hot in the sunlight. Hannah peeled her navy jacket off. “I should have brought shorts or worn a skirt.”

“You’ll be in your swimsuit soon. We’re about to head down to the beach for lunch.”

“Is that our picnic lunch?” she asked, gesturing to the small leather duffel.

“Nope. My suit, towels and sunscreen.”

“Where’s lunch?”

“Hungry?”

“Thirsty.”

“Come. Let’s go to the beach. Everything’s already there.”

They walked across the clearing toward the cypress trees and a steep staircase chiseled into the stone cliff.

Hannah followed Zale down the stairs slowly, careful not to trip in her heels. The sun beat down on the top of her head and she grew hotter by the moment. Her elegant sandals were totally impractical for the steep descent and her white trousers grew dusty at the hem. And yet the ocean sparkled far below, the sapphire and turquoise water lapping against ivory sand.

The deep blue water looked impossibly inviting. Hannah couldn’t wait to get her feet wet. She loved to swim and looked forward to stretching out in the sun.

Zale waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. He’d taken off his shoes and rolled up his sleeves revealing strong tan forearms. “No more stairs till later.”

She slipped off her high-heel sandals, flexing her toes. “Good. That was a little scary.”

She’d thought they’d already reached the beach but Zale walked around the corner to another private beach. A large colorful blanket was spread out on the sand with a large basket anchoring one corner, and an ice chest on another.

Zale crouched next to the ice chest and opened the top. “Chef took care of us. Beer, wine, water, juice. What would you like to drink?”

“Beer, please,” she said, kneeling down on the blanket, feet blistered and totally parched.

“Beer?”

“I love a cold beer on a hot summer day. Don’t you?”

“Yes, but not many women do.” He withdrew two chilled bottles and a chilled glass.

“I don’t need a glass,” she said, waving off the glass and taking one of the opened bottles from him. “How did this all get here?” she asked, gesturing to the basket and ice chest.

“My security detail brought it earlier when they secured the island.”

“Is this a family island?”

He unbuttoned his shirt, giving her a tantalizing view of tan, taut skin over sinewy muscle. “No, I bought it back when I played football for a living. I wanted a place far from crowds, paparazzi and overly friendly fans.”

Hannah almost licked her lips. He looked incredible. The dense curved muscles of his chest gave way to lean hard abs. “Did you bring your girlfriends here?”

“Just one, and only once. She found it too isolated for her liking.”

“So what do you do when you’re here?”

“Sleep. Read. Relax.”

She sipped her beer. “What do you read?” “Everything. Novels. Biographies. Histories. Whatever I can get my hands on.”

Her lips curved and she settled onto the blanket. “Do you have a favorite author?”

“I do, but I don’t think he’s writing anymore. Most of his books were published nearly twenty years ago. James Clavell is his name. He wrote Shogun, Tai-Pan, Noble House—”

“King Rat,” she supplied, smiling. “I loved his books. My father introduced me to him. For years I wanted to learn Japanese.”

“Did you?”

“No. You couldn’t find Japanese language classes in B—” Hannah broke off, realizing she came dangerously close to saying Bandera, her hometown in Texas. She flushed, took a quick sip of her beer. “I learned Spanish and Italian instead.”

“You’re fluent in both?”

“Yes. You are, too. I read somewhere that you know more languages than any other modern royal. Do languages just come easily to you?”

“I worked at it, the same way I worked at playing football. You don’t improve if you don’t apply yourself.”

“Not everyone is willing to work that hard.”

He shrugged, the thin fabric of his shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and outlining his muscles. “I don’t mind hard work. Never have.”

Hannah bit her lip, liking him more with every moment that passed. Zale was her kind of man—gorgeous, built and brilliant, too. Not fair, she thought breathlessly, far too attracted for her own good.

What she needed was to cool down. “Feel like swimming?” she asked.

“Good idea. It’s hot.” He pointed along the cliff to an opening in the rock. “There’s a little alcove over there by the rock where you can change. Or if you don’t like caves, you can just change here, and I promise not to look.”

“Cave sounds great,” Hannah answered, grabbing her suit and getting to her feet.

In the hollowed-out rock she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the tangerine bikini bottoms before tying the strings of the bikini top around her neck and back. The tiny shiny orange triangles barely covered anything and she sucked in her stomach as if she could somehow make herself smaller.

It took all of her courage to walk back to the blanket in nothing but her suit.

It didn’t help that Zale stood at the edge of the water, watching her walk. He’d changed while she was gone and was wearing black and red surfer-style board shorts instead of the traditional European men’s suit.

She liked the long board shorts. They hung low on his lean hips, showing off his flat, chiseled stomach. He looked like a surfer—tan, lean, muscular—and she couldn’t remember the last time she had found a man this sexy.

Dropping her clothes on the blanket, Hannah walked toward him. “I like your board shorts. Do you surf?”

“I do.” He paused. “Well, I did. I grew up surfing—my brother Stephen was really good—but haven’t gone on a true surf trip in years.”

She waded into the water, gasping a little at the cool temperature. “Where would you go?”

“Wherever there were good waves. Rincon, Brazil, Indonesia, Costa Rica.” He ran a hand through his hair, muscles in his thick bicep flexing. “I miss it. But then I miss football, too. I find it hard, being inside, sitting at a desk, as much as I do.”

“So how do you handle it?” she asked, wading deeper and sinking down to her shoulders. The water felt warmer already. “I run and work out. A lot.”

There was a roughness in his voice, a sound of pain, and Hannah’s chest squeezed. Everything about him was so real, so physical.

Here on this island he was a man, not merely a king, and she found the man incredibly appealing.

Her survival instinct told her to be careful, that allowing herself to feel anything for him would lead to danger. But Zale was so hard to resist. Who else had this combination of dense muscle, burnished skin, keen intellect and burning ambition?

“You need a proper vacation,” she said huskily. “A chance to just unplug and unwind.”

“It’d be nice.”

“Why don’t you take one?”

“Our honeymoon was supposed to be one.”

Hannah inhaled sharply, feeling as if she’d gotten a kick to the ribs.

She’d forgotten yet again that she was supposed to be Emmeline. Forgot he would soon marry Emmeline. Would soon honeymoon with her.

The thought of Zale with Emmeline hurt. “Remind me, what are we doing for our honeymoon?” she asked, hating that she already felt jealous. Hating the idea of them together on a beach like this, talking like this …

“We’re spending ten days on my yacht in Greece and then a few days in Paris so you can do some shopping.”

Hannah chewed on her inner lip, thinking that Zale did not strike her as the type to enjoy cruising the Greek islands on a yacht. He struck her as too active for ten days of sunbathing on a yacht. Some rest was good but wouldn’t he also want adventure, or some of an adrenaline rush? “That doesn’t sound fun for you.”

“It’s what you wanted.”

He meant, that was what Emmeline wanted.

Hannah shook her head, unaccountably angry. Emmeline and Zale were not a good fit. They didn’t belong together. Emmeline didn’t even want to marry him but was doing it out of obligation. How could this be a happy marriage?

But Hannah couldn’t say anything. It wasn’t her place to say anything. She was just here as a placeholder until Emmeline arrived.

And even that made Hannah furious. She dived under a wave, exhaled until she needed air and then popped back to the surface. Still upset, she swam a few strokes before turning on her back to float. The sun shone brightly overhead. The water felt cool against her skin and she could taste the tang of salt on her lips.

Zale was not hers.

Zale would never be hers.

She had to remember that. Couldn’t forget it. Couldn’t let personal feelings cloud the commitment she’d made to Emmeline. Even if that commitment made her heart ache.

Hannah turned onto her stomach and swam slowly back to the beach where Zale sat on the sand waiting for her.

“You’re a good swimmer,” he said as she walked out of the water. His gaze was warm as it slowly swept over her, lingering on the small triangles that barely covered her full breasts as well as the scrap of fabric between her thighs.

She could tell from his expression that he liked what he saw and it made her nipples harden and thrust against the wet flimsy fabric of her bikini top.

Nervous, she slicked her long wet hair back from her face. “I love the ocean,” she said, her legs feeling strangely weak. No man had ever looked at her like this. No man had ever made her feel special or beautiful. As if she were something to be touched … tasted … “Love being in the water.”

“I like watching you.”

His voice had dropped, deepened and she felt something coil deep in her belly. Nerves. Adrenaline.

She was wanting all kinds of things she never thought about. Wanting emotions and sensation she never felt.

“Well, I’d love to watch you surf one day,” she answered, sitting down next to him. He was so close she could reach out and brush her fingers across his hard bronzed biceps, so close she could see every shadow and hollow of his flat ripped abs.

She wondered what his skin would feel like if she touched him. Wondered what he’d do.

Her fingers curled into a fist. She couldn’t think like this. Couldn’t be tempted.

“We’ll have to plan a surf trip,” he said, reaching out to lift her wet hair and twist the long strands, wringing water from the ends. “Where should we go? Bali? Perth? Durban?”

She shivered with pleasure as his warm fingers grazed her shoulder. She liked the way he twisted her hair, the tug on her scalp, the heat in his eyes.

He made her feel beautiful. Desirable.

Hungry.

She touched her tongue to her upper lip, dazed by the need to be touched. She craved his hands on her body, wanted his palms on her breasts.

“Anywhere,” she whispered, her breasts aching, her nipples pressing in blatant invitation against her bikini top.

His gaze dropped to her breasts and she could feel the heat in his eyes as if he’d actually caressed her.

“What would you do while I surfed?” he asked, pushing her back against the sand to straddle her hips.

He was hard and she gasped, looking up into his eyes, her lips parting helplessly. It felt so good. She wanted more of him and was aching for him to touch her.

“I couldn’t just leave you at the hotel bored,” he added, reaching out to cup her breast, fascinated by her response.

“Wouldn’t be bored,” she choked, her voice failing her, her inner thighs squeezing tight as hot sensation rushed through her. She wanted him between her thighs, his mouth on her nipple, his hands stroking everywhere.

“What would you do?” he asked.

She could hardly think straight. “Read.”

“I don’t know if that would work,” he murmured, slipping a hand into her thick wet hair, and drawing her head back so he could see her face.

“Why not?”

Desire burned in his eyes, formed lines at his mouth. A rich dusky color warmed his cheekbones. “I don’t know if I could leave you alone long enough to go surf. I don’t think I’d want to surf, not if I had you in my bed.”

She just stared up into his eyes, lost in him.

He stretched out over her, bracing his weight on his elbows and lowered his head to touch his lips to the tender skin beneath her pale jaw. “I want you.”

He’d only brushed his lips against her jaw in the most fleeting of touches and yet the place he’d kissed burned, her skin too hot and sensitive.

“But you know that, don’t you?” he added, kissing yet another spot, making her nerves dance. “You know I can’t stay away from you even when I should.”

She shivered helplessly as his mouth melted her defenses, turning her inside out. She couldn’t even focus on what he was saying, not when his lips were making her body ache for him.

“And yet I should,” he added, voice pitched seductively low. “At least until we both know what we want.”

Hannah quivered as his voice rumbled through her, making her squirm. She knew what she wanted. She wanted him. Zale. Wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go.

He pressed another kiss to the base of her throat before turning her over, pulling her on top of him. Gritty sand slipped between them. The sun shone hotly, but nothing was as hot as Hannah’s hunger as he put his hands on her waist, sliding one hand down across her bottom while the other slid up to cup her breast.

His hands were so warm and they made her feel as if she were on fire. She ached and tingled and burned, shivering against him.

“I think I know what I want,” she breathed, as his thumb found her taut, aching nipple and strummed it. “But maybe that’s not what you’re talking about.”

“And what do you want?”

She could hardly think straight, wasn’t even sure where she was or what was happening, only that she wanted more—more him, more skin, more sensation. “You.”

“But for how long?” he asked, kissing the side of her neck and then brushing his lips over hers.

She kissed him back, lifting an arm and clasping the back of his neck. He was so tall, so hard, so strong. She was safe with him. He’d never let anyone hurt her. “For ever,” she whispered against his mouth, not caring if he heard her, not caring about anything anymore but him.

When would she ever meet someone like Zale Patek again? When would she ever feel so alive and beautiful again?

He lifted his head to look into her eyes. His eyes were dark, his cheekbones jutted, his expression intense. He looked wild. Fierce. Primal.

“Be careful what you say,” he murmured, molding her nearly naked body even closer to his. She could feel his warm skin against hers and his hard shaft press against her belly.

He cupped her backside in his hands, holding her hips firmly against him, making her gasp as he rubbed her over the head of his shaft once and again.

She could feel the thickness and length of his erection through his board shorts. Felt the corded muscles of his thighs and the thick muscles in his back. He was gorgeous, so very, very gorgeous. “I do want you,” she said, her voice breaking. “Even if it’s wrong.”

His head dipped, his lips taking hers in a slow, deep, bone-melting kiss. “I can’t make love to you now,” he said, his voice hoarse in her ear. “But if you still feel this way tonight, Emmeline, you won’t be able to keep me out of your bed.”